


Forest, Flame and Fury

by kazarina



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Emotional manipulation and typical Regent crappiness, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nicaise and Nigel are twins, Non Explicit Violence, Slow Burn, no csa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazarina/pseuds/kazarina
Summary: It is four months to crown prince Laurent’s ascension when Damen visits Arles for the first time in ten years. With only limited recollections of Laurent as a young child, Damen slowly begins to reacquaint with him again, finding things old and new to learn. A fic where Laurent is not alone in his fight against the Regent.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 24





	Forest, Flame and Fury

_Sleep easy, never alone again, for I’ll stand guard through the night  
We’ll battle through forest, flame and fury, and I’ll be by your side._

_When the stars are gone and the moon is swallowed by the night_  
When I can’t see your feet and you can’t see mine  
I’ll still be as always, by your side  


The east tower lookout was built for mostly aesthetic reasons, as was typical of a great deal of the Veretian palace. Tucked away at the end of a set of spiral stairs, it was not very high nor did it offer great vantage, though it did possess glass windows on all sides that extended upwards into a beautiful gilded spire. Its twin, the east garden lookout, on the other hand – symmetry was very important in Veretian architecture – was much more practical in comparison. It was open-aired, infused in the sweet scent of whatever seasonal flowers were blooming in the adjacent rooftop garden, and offered a full panoramic view beyond the palace walls: Arles bustled directly below, fully living up to its reputation as the jewel heart of Vere; to the far east were the lush and fertile pastures of Varenne, and in the south, the Ellosean sea tossed its high waves against rocky seawalls. Visiting nobles would gather at the east garden lookout for this splendid view, sitting around the pavilion for morning or afternoon teas, or in the evenings, come to take a stroll with a lover, if, of course, one didn’t mind being watched, for this was also the place where everyone watched everyone.

Unlike its more popular counterpart, the east tower lookout was probably intended to be secluded, a kind of hard-to-find place hidden where few would have purpose to venture. Though the true history of how it came to be was long buried together with the ashes of the original team of palace architects, it was quite likely that it had been planned as a lovers’ hideaway, with just enough space for two or three in the cosy rounded space.

Laurent discovered it by a bizarre turn of events – one that warranted its own story – when he first moved into the east wing. Then, cushions were strewn about the sides of the room together with other storage items, and the carpet was rough and worn. It was one of the first places he had ordered cleaned and refitted, the beaded curtain by the doorway torn down and the whole place made utilitarian, for it was also clear to him that the palace builders had attempted to make the place also functional. The windows were double-walled, able to take a moderate amount of impact, and did not rattle at the height of the winter winds; the glass had furthermore been treated on the outside with a coating of reflective properties so that no one could look in. It appealed to Laurent perfectly, as he had quickly learnt the immeasurable value of being able to observe unseen.

It was there that Laurent first watched the Akielon ships coming in.

There were six of them. Unlike Vere’s ships, they were not painted. There was no color at all, just wooden hulls and white masts. Deceptively plain. From their size, they probably held around fifty men each, which meant that the Akielon prince had brought along three hundred men in total. It was not a small force. Vere had been on good terms with Akielos when King Aleron ruled and Auguste was crown prince, but that all changed after the accident that took both their lives. King Aleron’s sole living brother, Laurent’s uncle, became Regent. The starburst crests and blue livery were replaced with half-moon crowns and red, red, red everywhere. Red for the Regent of Vere, red for spilled blood, red for the bright stamp on history that marked the point of no return.

Through a spyglass, Laurent watched the ships dock and the Akielons slowly disembark. In the distance, they looked like tiny white ants with red backs, overshadowed by the Veretian common that had turned out to gawk at the strangers. With what limited view the lookout afforded, Laurent could see that the Akielons had formed themselves into neat rows in front of the pier as they waited for their prince to give the order to begin the trek to the palace. All that Laurent learned from the limited Akielon books in the palace, the quality of Akielon soldiers, their diligence and discipline, may not be so exaggerated after all. Laurent just wished, irrationally, that red wasn’t their color. 

Laurent set the spyglass down. It would take more than an hour for the delegation to make their way to the palace, and that is if they did not stop on the way at all. The afternoon sun filtered in, providing a balance to the usual cool spring temperatures and pooling warm on Laurent’s cheek. He sat down on the bench with his back against the glass, listening to the quiet and peace this sanctuary afforded him. He didn’t need to look to know the courtyard below was an explosion of movement, a kind of ordered chaos. Servants hurrying between errands. Guards were moving to take their places. There was to be a welcome afternoon tea first followed by a more extravagant feast later that evening. Laurent was expected to be present for both of course. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the glass, feeling a phantom ache in his chest as if there were tight reins around it. Later, he would be a prince again, but now, alone here, he gave himself this.

There was no reason for his uncle to invite the Akielons to Arles. That was the part that never made sense to Laurent. All along, Uncle had treated them with a fair amount of disdain and made it clear he thought them nothing but uncultured barbarians. Why invite them over? And why now? The official invite spoke of friendship, of humble apologies in the light of tragedy and inexperience, and of plans of a new era beginning with a major review of the trade deals. The Akielons might have believed his uncle, but Laurent did not for one moment consider it plausible. It was too good to be true. And one thing Laurent knew far too well, that a black and blighted heart was never going to shine no matter how long you spent scrubbing at it.

The hour passed. The activity in the courtyards grew, voices occasionally rising above the patter of footsteps over walkways, and then lessened, like a retreating wave. Laurent didn’t need the spyglass to watch the Akielons anymore. He could see them on the streets, marching through the outer palace gates in a sea of white and red. They wore traditional garments, chitons, that left their arms and legs bare, paying no heed to the chilly wind, as if their wills were strong enough to battle mother nature herself. If it was meant to be a display of strength, then it certainly succeeded as such, and this Laurent accepted begrudgingly, for he would have done the same in their places. 

_We scorned you first, then welcomed you with our snivelling apologies, so now you bring a small army inside our city._

Prince Damianos and his general rode side by side leading a six men wide column, like the beaded eyes of a giant snake undulating through the city streets. It was strange to see the prince again. It felt like a lifetime ago, a different Laurent that had met him. Back then, Laurent was ten years old, naïve, happy, glowing with the kind of peace that came from knowing what was expected of him. Back then, Damianos was in that lanky adolescence stage, worldly and wise being closer to Auguste’s age. He was always enthusiastic for any activity Auguste dreamed up of, and he was kind enough to listen to Laurent pratter on about his books. When official meetings kept the adults busy, the three of them would while away long hours at Laurent’s favourite spot at the back of the palace; Laurent, book in hand, ruining the fine stitching at the back of his jacket by leaning against the rough bark of a tree; Auguste and Damianos never able to sit still, constantly engaged in sport or mock fighting with wooden sticks. 

Well, there was obviously nothing left of the awkward-limbed teenager in Damianos now. He was a grown man, and time could change anybody, as Laurent was vastly, painfully, aware. For now, it seemed his friendly nature still remained, as he waved good-naturedly at the crowd, smiling and nodding at people whose culture he would probably never fully understand. It was always Auguste that knew him better, Auguste that was the one that liked him. What would Damianos think of Vere now? Or of him?

A muffled sound echoed up the stairways, growing in volume until footsteps reached the entrance. Laurent did not bother turning to the source of the sound. Instead he looked down upon the courtyard, which was empty except for the guards on duty standing at attention so still they might as well be signposts. Someone cleared their throat.

“You highness,” Jord said, from under the open doorway. Without looking, Laurent knew his expression would be the same as it usually was, steady and careful. “The Regent has requested your presence three times now.”

It was too bad that there was only so much Laurent could defy his uncle, and it was a rather dismal attempt at that. Yes, it was time to be a prince again. 

“As they say, luck lies in odd numbers,” Laurent murmured. 

He turned to see Jord nod and go back the way he came from. His head disappeared around the spiral staircase, and his steps were more jaunty going down than when he made his hike up. Laurent liked Jord. The captain of his guard was competent, and for the most part, understood him well enough not to bother him unnecessarily. Either that, or he preferred not to suffer Laurent’s displeasure.

 _Pettiness belongs only to little boys_ , is what his uncle would say. But it wasn’t that. It was the slow stretch of a leopard that was testing the limits of its power, and upon coming into that well of strength, found that he could do as he pleased. He wasn’t shackled after all. Sometimes it was hard to remember that, especially when you make your own choices only to find that you were still playing on _his chessboard_. And now, here they were, on the last leg of the game, four months to Laurent’s ascension, and the stakes had somehow included the Akielons.

The great hall, the only one ostentatious enough to entertain foreign delegations, was a cacophony of noise. Veretian nobles gathered at the sides in groups, talking and laughing, while servants carrying trays of mini delicacies weaved around them. The pets were there, ranging about or artfully positioned in choice locations, adorned with the brightest jewels their masters strove to display. Laurent felt a familiar sense of trepidation as he entered the hall. There used to be the wild fear that in a place of his uncle’s dominion, his power would be diminished like a wizard whose magic was suddenly sucked dry, and if he tried to speak, his words would come out intelligible, no more than a whisper. Those were the old nightmares. Laurent pushed that away. Auguste, he knew, wouldn’t have felt like this. Auguste had the charm, the sword-fighting skills, even a manner about him that made people confide their troubles in him. He was the one with the real magic that could draw everyone towards him. Inspire true loyalty. And Laurent was well, not Auguste, and would never be. Laurent pushed that away too.

“Your highness,” Lady Vannes glided across the floor to meet him, smoothly inserting herself at his side. Her eyes sparkled as bright as the jewel-set Vaskian belt that cinched around her waist. The smile she threw him was playful. 

“I daresay you will like the Akielon outfit very much,” she said, “I have it on personal account that it is a most… convenient outfit.”

Laurent had already known the jokes that would follow from the Akielons’ arrival. His lips twitched. “All I’m hearing is how much _you_ like it. My tailor is very good. I can give you his name.”

Her smile grew. “At least I wouldn’t start a riot if I wore one,” she said. “Tell me, my prince, would you wear one if I dared you to?” 

“I do not need one to start a riot, if that is what you are asking,” replied Laurent, though it sparked the thought of the advantages that could be gained from wearing a chiton. He filed that away for pondering later.

“No, you just come in and tear your uncle’s politics to shreds. Feed the carcass to the dogs.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear delicately, the gesture making the three silver rings on her fingers wink in the light. “It’s the same thing really,” she continued, with another sidelong glance, “you might as well start a riot.”

“No need to be dramatic.” Laurent looked to his left just in time to see Lord Deirre bowing low to him as he passed. “I said some words, that was all.” 

The council meeting in question had been two weeks ago, a formality vote on the new taxation structures proposed that did not turn out to be a formality after all. Though the sharp taste of victory had already faded to a shadow of itself, it was proof that hard work, good planning, and a strong network of allies gave him the right chances. 

“You’re quite mad, you know?” Vannes’s eyes were narrowed slightly into a chiding expression. 

“And you help me anyway,” Laurent said mildly, “Speaking of which, it wouldn’t hurt to know more about our guests.” 

“Ah yes, it’s curious, isn’t it? This timing of theirs is so close to your ascension. I’ve seen the number of men they bring.”

On the dais, the Regent was surrounded by a different set of nobles now. There was Lord Mattise, a man with a pair of deep set eyes who despite holding various positions at court for decades, had never found favour with King Aleron, and Lord Corbin, who had some years ago spent twenty drunk minutes informing Laurent in detail about the village competitions he had won as a child. His breath had hovered disgustingly close to Laurent’s ear just before Laurent walked out on him. The Regent said to Laurent afterwards that he had the patience of a five-year-old instead of a fifteen year old, and that Vere would suffer for it.

“Hmm,” said Laurent, pressing the knuckles of one hand into the palm of the other. They felt hard and bony and made his hand ache. Laurent had considered a number of different scenarios in which a small foreign army could be useful to the Regent, but they all felt implausible. “I dislike not knowing,” was all he said as he turned away from the dais.

Not far from them stood two councillors that had been nominated for the role of Ambassador to Vask – the role that Vannes currently held. Their rise from obscurity had come about not long after the recent change in the law requiring that all foreign ambassador positions were to be held by the same person for no more than five years. Unless grounds for an exemption could be proven. The list of requirements to grant an exemption would take three hours to recite.

“Tell them stories from Vask,” Laurent said, “I hope you haven’t run out of them.” 

“For a willing audience? I never run out. Besides, haven’t you seen them? I could talk about anything. They are not difficult on the eyes.” 

“Don’t have too much fun,” Laurent said with a smile.

Vannes grinned. “Someone’s got to have it on your behalf, your highness.”

A little while later, a guard in red came over to ask for him. 

“Nephew,” the Regent said, irritated, when Laurent finally made his way to join him. The nobles that had previously surrounded him were gone now, swallowed back into the thickening crowd below. “You have decided to join us.”

“I have had business to settle, Uncle, as you so often like to remind me of my duties,” Laurent replied smoothly. 

The Regent regarded him with a frown, “Why do you always have to be so disagreeable?” he said. 

Laurent felt his heartbeat quicken with all the words he wanted to say, but like so many times before, being with his uncle felt like standing on a sliding floor. You were always one step behind, battling to stay upright. Whatever control Laurent fought to grasp at always slipped through his fingers like soft silk. The Regent continued, “Stop – I don’t want to argue with you when you’re in this childish mood. The Akielons are arriving soon and I expect you to be on your best behavior today.”

“Like the way you shut our doors on them?” Laurent said in a tone as cool as he could manage. 

A look of tired resignation clouded over the Regent’s expression as he simply stared at Laurent in silence. “You were such a sweet boy once,” he finally said. “Perhaps you can find it in you again. And if not, think of your brother. All I ask is that you live up to a tenth of who he is.”

There was an arrow long buried in Laurent’s heart and it jerked awake from dormancy, sending echoes of its presence tingling through his skin. He kept his expression still and said nothing.

The hall was quieting then. The Akielons made their way in, or at least, a reduced selection of them did. The average Akielon was larger than the average Veretian, and Prince Damianos was half a head taller than the tallest of his soldiers. Even the women had thick necks and broad shoulders. The only thing, appearance-wise, that distinguished prince from soldier was the gold-emblazoned laurel pattern across his cape, though even without that accessory, his status was clear as day. From confident stride to the calm surveillance of his surroundings, every way he carried himself spoke of royalty.

Nothing prepared Laurent for meeting the Damianos in person, not all the thinking over the last few weeks, nor the covert observation from afar just before. This was the same person that had sat beside Laurent on those summer afternoons listening to him read aloud, and sometimes, just to make Laurent laugh, he would ask to take over the reading only to deliberately butcher the pronunciations with an Akielon accent. His eyes had been soft and bright then, as it was now when they rested on Laurent. 

Damianos looked away only when the Regent spoke, “Our brother of Akielos.” 

The formal protocol was completed when Damianos lifted his palm to meet the Regent’s. “Our brother of Vere.”

“My nephew, crown prince of Vere,” the Regent said, waving a hand.

“Prince Damianos,” Laurent said with neutral politeness.

“Prince Laurent,” he said, “I am pleased that we meet again.” The smile that tugged at the corners of his lips was warm and without guise. He seemed genuinely happy to be in Vere despite the uncertainty of the political situation.

“As am I,” Laurent replied.

“Nikandros,” Damianos motioned his general to come forward. “Kyros of Delpha.”

Laurent had been wrong. Damianos did not just bring a general with him, he brought an influential Akielon noble with one of the largest provincial armies in Akielos. Nikandros was everything Damianos was not. He wore a graveness about him like a shield, the lines around his eyes never once softening, as he bowed civilly to the Regent. The way his shoulders were set about him made Laurent think he would be well-poised to spring into battle at any moment, never mind that he had no weapon about him. His attitude was much better understood when considering that Delpha, sharing a border with Vere, bore the larger share of the troubles these past years, and was more directly affected than any other Akielon province. But Nikandros, it seemed, looked at Laurent oddly with the nervy tension of one presented with a difficult problem.

Once the official greetings were completed and the feast and entertainment signalled to begin, the Regent offered to personally lead the prince about the room to introduce him to key Veretian nobles. 

“I have looked forward to seeing you so much,” Damianos said eagerly, after the rounds were made.

Again, it caught Laurent by surprise. The fact that Damianos was so open with his thoughts was incomprehensible. Laurent tried to remember if he had always been this way, but found that he did not know. If it wasn’t Damianos that had changed, then it was something in Laurent that did, and he did not want to find out which it was.

“And now you have,” he replied, a little too hurriedly. It was not often that Laurent found himself caught off-guard and on the verge of stumbling over a conversation. It had him retreating towards easier territory. “How was the journey to Arles?” he enquired. 

Damianos complied easily with talking trivial pleasantries. They talked about the moderate but steady winds during spring which made it efficient to travel, which then led to a conversation about the climate in Ios at this time of the year. He expressed a delight over how the cool temperatures in Arles were a respite to a particularly warm season in Akielos. 

Damianos, Laurent suddenly realised, was a part of the life he never had, and for him to waltz back into the present made Laurent feel strange all over. It felt as though there were two persons within his one body. 

“You look different,” Damianos said, when a natural lull in the conversation was reached, “you look well.” There was sympathy in his eyes too, and Laurent was glad he did not speak aloud of the tragedy it referenced.

“I was a child when you last saw me, Exalted,” Laurent replied, “of course I’ve changed.” Everything has changed, he did not say. Our countries are not friends anymore. 

“Damen,” Damianos said, frowning. “You used to call me Damen.” 

“I –” Laurent began.

Jord interrupted them then. “Your Highness,” he called out. There was a purposeful manner in the way he weaved through the standing courtiers to make his way towards Laurent. As a rule, Jord went about his duties in a stoic, pragmatic way – solve one problem after another, something Laurent approved of – and that was what he was doing now, except he looked worried, and it wasn’t for himself. 

“Excuse me,” Laurent said hurriedly to Damianos, before moving to meet Jord.

“The stables, your highness,” Jord spoke in low tones, once they had exited the hall and could talk in private. “There is a fire.” Laurent looked sharply at Jord then and saw the understanding there.

Pepper and Cinnamon. Two horses sired from the same lineage, only five years old when they entered the palace. A gift for two golden princes from a rarely present father who made up for lost time in the only way he knew how. Both had been there for Laurent since Auguste died, in different ways. Cinnamon, the last living reminder of Auguste, was the closest thing that still felt like family. It was unthinkable that he might lose them, that they could pass in such a horrid manner. Perhaps they already did. Laurent felt as though there was a stone at the back of his throat, preventing air from coming in or going out. Any words he spoke now might be lost in a wheeze. 

“The men are doing their best,” Jord said quickly, “I’ve left Orlant in charge, and came as quick as I could. I don’t know how the horses are.”

Laurent swallowed hard against the imaginary lump, “Let’s go.” 

They made haste to get back to the east wing, and Jord didn’t speak of the other implication, the one that made Laurent glance behind him into the hall as he left, finding that Uncle had taken up his vacated place beside Damianos.

Laurent’s heartbeat thudded with his footsteps, out of sync and in disarray. He remembered the time he had woken up in his rooms alone, a headache pounding at him like a blacksmith’s hammer, half running, half stumbling into Auguste’s rooms and finding it empty. Then going to the king’s quarters next, flinging the door wide open, his mind not registering the fact that the corridors were absent of the usual guards. He tore down the corridors towards Paschal’s sickroom next, blackness threatening to overtake him at each step. The distance felt too long, like a never-ending journey. That was how he felt now.

Over the balustrade of the western corridor, black plumes of smoke could be seen rising out of the stables. Some of the horses were scattered nearby, which was a good sign. By the time they made their way there, Laurent had reasserted control over the churning that was twisting his insides.

Orlant came to meet him on the field but Laurent held up a hand. He would see it for himself. Or whatever was left of it. 

“Wait, your highness!” Orlant called after him. 

At the entrance, a breath of wind sent choking heat towards Laurent and he had to shield his eyes with an arm. He sprinted down the aisle, bracing himself for what he might see, but only found more and more empty stalls, the latches at the gates undone.

None of the horses were there. Perhaps their bodies had been dragged out so that they could be burnt properly, or so that the stable master could put them out of their pain quickly. He whipped around so fast that Orlant nearly ran into him. 

“They all escaped, your highness,” said Orlant.

Infinite relief. He should have known that. It was the most sensible outcome. 

Laurent looked about him now, properly assessing for the first time. Only isolated fires remained of the blaze, and these were efficiently being put out with water and sand by a continuous line of men. Of the damage to the building, only one section had collapsed though some of the other soot-black pillars threatened to give way any moment..

“Well, report,” Laurent said. 

Out of habit perhaps, Orlant stood a little straighter. “One of the stable hands saw the fire from the kitchens and let the horses out. She’s injured but not by much, and Paschal’s already been sent for. Anyone who works at the stables has been gathered outside, ready to be questioned.”

“And the stable master?”

Orlant shook his head, “I have not seen him, but perhaps he is outside. Please, your highness, it is not safe here.”

Laurent was already moving to pick up a newly-brought in bucket of sand. “And it does not get any safer if you keep standing there,” he said.

Embers danced in the smoky air like fireflies. There was work to do, which Laurent tackled with a quiet calm, his presence seeming to spur everyone to renewed focus. It was soon over, and Orlant, sweat pouring down his face in the heat, brightened when Laurent finally left the stables. 

More reports were called for, the men reorganised to search for the unaccounted horses, and the master builder fetched from his duties elsewhere so that repairs could begin as soon as possible. Only with the immediate needs taken care of did Laurent allow himself to go to the horses that had been recaptured and secured at the nearest line of trees. A temporary shelter had been set up under the shade there and medicinal supplies had been brought over.

Pepper was safe.

She was there standing under a shady elm tree, head lowered and ears hung down. She looked bored but happy to be outside. One half of Laurent’s heart eased like water trickling down hot stone. He went up to her, smoothing a hand down her neck several times and whispering soothing words in her ear. In return, Pepper made a soft low noise of affection, allowing the touches to go on for a while. Until something else caught her attention. Someone had set down a bucket of apples just out of reach to the horses, prompting her to lean her nose towards it and eye Laurent reproachfully.

“I spoil you too much,” Laurent said softly before walking over to bring her an apple.

The sky had dimmed by then and grey wisps of cloud were scattered overhead as if smoke from the stables had floated up and pasted itself there. Cinnamon hadn’t been found yet, but that was somewhat to be expected. She was a determined, strong-spirited creature with a mind of her own, often taking advantage of less experienced riders when she sensed that she could get her own way. Spooked, she would have fled the grounds with an unmatched vigour.

As more reports came to Laurent, the incident started to look like one of the many unfortunate events that followed Laurent doggedly like hungry shadows. The stable master was nowhere to be found. An embossed shard of glass curved precisely like the side of an oil lamp had been found inside the stables. It seemed ridiculously lucky that the senior stable hand, Vin, had happened to see early signs of smoke from the kitchen windows and courageously went on to free the horses. Laurent knew her just like he knew all of his household. She was young, possessed a good touch with the horses, and a genuine curiosity of them.

Vin looked younger than her fourteen years of age as she sat next to wooden buckets of water, kept still only by Paschal’s stern instructions. 

“Just minor burns,” said Paschal, “it will heal in no time, but only if you rest. By that I mean you must keep your hands clean and try not to irritate the wound. No working in the stables for a few days.” 

The girl nodded, saying nothing. When the physician departed, Laurent took the spot beside her.

“Your highness,” she said.

“You did a brave thing today, Vin,” Laurent said gently. “You saved my horses from a horrible death. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” she mumbled, color suffusing into her face as she looked away. “I – I care for them too.”

“I know you do,” Laurent said, “I’ve seen the way you are with horses. One day you will be a fine master yourself, if that is what you want to do.” 

Her eyes lit suddenly with a fierceness that Laurent was surprised to see. “I want to be, your highness,” the words came out in a whispered rush. She looked away again. 

“Good,” Laurent said with a smile.

“The horses,” she said softly, staring down at her bandaged fingers, “they will be found, won’t they?”

“Hmm,” Laurent said, “I expect some of them are having a wonderful frolic, eating grass that they’re not supposed to eat, splashing all the water out of the fish pond. Or something like that.”

A giggle bubbled out of the girl. “Not Pepper,” she said shyly, “Pepper is so special, so good, and so easy.” 

A little distance away, Pepper was nudging at a boy’s shoulder gently, trying to get him to feed her an apple from the bucket she could not reach. Laurent suddenly realised that he had been smiling as he watched her. It was the relief making him less guarded, he thought, and attempted to rein in himself.

Vin had begun talking, overcoming her initial hesitancy to chatter about the horses. She talked about how sensible Pepper was, how she strove to do her best all the time. And then with Cinnamon, the obstinate creature, how long it had taken to gain her trust, how the stable master had chosen her over the others to learn the intricacies of designing the horses’ training exercise, and how hard she worked to learn every scrap of knowledge from the stable master. 

And then as it occurred to her, she said, “Did you find the Master Neil? He wasn’t –” she swallowed – “inside, was he?”

“No,” Laurent said, after a pause, “no, he was not.” He kept his tone even and light. 

“Of course,” she chuckled nervously, visibly relaxing. “That was silly of me. I don’t know why I said that. He would have saved the horses if he was there, right?”

Instead of answering, Laurent looked up into the sky. Sunset was happening, daylight dissolving into a combination of red and gold. He thought about the first time he came to the realisation that the one person you trusted above all had betrayed him. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been signs before.

Vin had followed his gaze and looked up into the sky as well. Together, they watched the brilliance of the sky wink out of existence. Then, with a twitch of his fingers, Laurent signalled for one of the women to escort the girl back, with instructions that she go to bed at a reasonable hour. He watched them leave, the girl hurriedly giving him a grateful smile, awkwardly waving a bandaged hand, before she was ushered away.

Any longer that Laurent stayed would be more hindrance than help so he too departed. He could feel – he didn’t know what to feel. He needed to think and he longed for the privacy of his rooms. 

As he passed through the corridors towards the east wing, he saw the Akielons making their way towards the evening feast. The sounds of the Akielon language filled the courtyard, stray voices travelling from the opposite corridor to reach him. Its harsh guttural sounds felt out of place. The Regent and Damianos were walking together, already looking like two old friends. 

“Nephew, did you not get my message?” 

Laurent stopped. His uncle looked concerned, even kindly. For a moment, Laurent felt like he was the only one that had gone mad. Damianos stood a distance away, watching. There were people passing by him. There was laughter. There was talking. Excitement about the wine made from a new hybrid of grapes from the Alier region. When did the power game turn into a matter of life or death? 

The emotions churning within Laurent were clamped down tight with a lid. He was distantly aware that he was angry. But angry wasn’t the right word. It didn’t even begin to cover it. He stared at his uncle, wordless.

“Never mind about that,” the Regent said, ignoring whatever he saw on Laurent’s face. “I heard you had an accident in your stables. If it is resources you require, I can recommend some of my staff to help with the repairs.” 

It wouldn’t do for Laurent to simply walk away. He said, “There is no need. It is only a minor inconvenience.” The words were grinded out, gritty concrete tasting like dust.

“Ah, then that is well, isn’t it?” The Regent clapped a heavy hand on Laurent’s shoulder, smiling. His gaze held an edge of a private amusement. 

The touching was the last straw. Laurent turned and left before he could satisfy an itch to pull his dagger from his belt and slash at something. 

“You’ll be coming to the feast, won’t you?” the Regent called after him.

Laurent did not reply.

**Author's Note:**

> \- “luck lies in odd numbers” is a quote from Shakespeare, Merry Wives of Windsor.
> 
> Hi! So this is something I’ve been slowly working my way through since around Oct 2020. I don’t have the time, actually no, I have time, but I don’t have the mental space to work on it very fast, so updates will probably be not so regular. The two verses at the top were what I wrote before I even had a single word of this, and the plan is to develop the story in that direction, if it makes any sense. So, we'll see if I get there. But yeah, I'm excited, and a bit daunted, this will be my little (big) project for a while ~~ 
> 
> Tags will be updated as I go. Chapter 2 will introduce the prank-loving semi-genius twins. 
> 
> Thank you so SO much to Mari @xlydiadeetz, my beta and my inspiration and for so much support! 
> 
> Comments and feedback are love. I am on [tumblr](https://kazarina-writings.tumblr.com/), say hi :)


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